Anthony
by nungureum
Summary: Tibbs Slash. Set after Frame up. Lack of action and words is the language only they share save for one word, one word that always carried so much.


**Title**: Anthony

**Fandom**: NCIS

**Pairing**: Tibbs

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Forgot this in my prev fic, Shift.

**Summary**: Set after Frame up. Lack of action and words is the language only they share save for one word, one word that always carried so much.

**AN**: I admit I have not watched all NCIS or even in order. As far as I know, the one time Gibbs called Tony 'Anthony' was in Bounce when telling him he was doing a hell of a job and doing him proud. The way he said it made the name carry so much and I could not get it out of head. Then I re-watched Tibbs scene in jail in Frame up and Tony looked so despondent when he said 'I'm not getting out of this one, am I, boss' that I put the two together. I write out of whim on random inspirations, and don't have beta so all mistakes are mine.

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_**Anthony**_

It was initially just getting DiNozzo back to his place - a ride. DiNozzo's car is to be released tomorrow morning which is only a handful of hours later now, having apprehended Chip. It required no confession from the man but the paperworks had been a killer. Although, Gibbs does not doubt it is going to be Jenny who is really breaking her fingers tonight. It did leave his SFA without a car and Gibbs had merely grabbed his gears, grabbed DiNozzo's wrist, and the hold was probably a little softer than it looked because Tony still had enough time to pick his things up before being half dragged by Gibbs to the truck.

Gibbs' driving is no softer than usual though and in record time that Tony cannot even dream of breaking, Gibbs is pulling up to Tony's apartment with a distasteful frown at the grey block of slabs. Tony has been quiet the whole ride but that is not what bothers Gibbs. Tony can be quiet - hell, he _is_ quiet when the smooth-talking, fratboy DiNozzo persona is peeled off, and he is simply being _Anthony_. No, it is not the silence, but the man that has Gibbs knitting his brows. However, before he can get a word out, DiNozzo has suddenly perked up, flashes him a wide grin, and he is shooting out of the car - quite literally.

For a moment, Gibbs watches Tony shuffling away and disappearing behind the doors then swears to himself, cutting the car's engine off. He strides across and slides into the elevator just in time before the doors shut, much like Tony does everyday at NCIS. It makes Tony blink at him owlishly but all Gibbs does is press a button for the floor as if he cannot feel the green eyes drilling a hole through him from behind. The elevator dings and Gibbs' hand is back on Tony's wrist, calloused, warm, tingling - _there. _When they get to the door of his apartment, Tony finally lets out a sound, a strangled chortle, because Gibbs is picking his lock right in front of him as if it is the most natural thing to do, picking a lock with the owner present at his side. Gibbs holds the door for him with a smirk playing at his lips and Tony looks at him before shaking his head and stepping in.

Gibbs follows him in, closing the door. A few steps in and Tony is merely standing there, his bag still in his hand, and looking around the place as if he has never been there before. The place looks not too different from the last time Gibbs was here - DVDs haphazardly stacked next to a large flat screen TV, a few more scattered on the coffee table. The trash can next to the couch houses a few empty Chinese takeaway cartons and the couch itself, wider and, Gibbs admits, more comfortable than his own, is draped with askew blankets and quilts. Not that Tony sleeps on the couch the way Gibbs does but Gibbs knows that Tony often does end up falling asleep there while watching DVD before half-crawling to the bed at some random hour of the early morning.

Tony is still just standing there while Gibbs makes his way around the flat, just as at ease as when at his own place. He drops his keys on the coffee table, drapes his coat on the armrest of the couch, walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge. He picks up a couple of the cold sweating beers, pops them open, takes a swig from one and comes back to the living room.

Tony, _Anthony_, is yet to have moved and the green eyes jump around the apartment. They are hollow yet overflowing, clashes of all the confusion, anger, despair, and so much _fatigue_, leaving behind nothing but ashes. Gibbs thinks he almost prefers the simple look of surrender he had to snap Tony out of back in the jail earlier on - almost.

The plague, Kate's death, Ari's death, and Ziva's addition - MCRT, _his_ team, has been through a hell of roller coaster, one of them brushing too close to death every time. Gibbs remembers the stretched silence when he had called Tony after Ziva shot Ari in his basement, told him what had happened - it had been more poignant than any words could have been and Gibbs had sped off to Tony, leaving Ziva at his house, the silent phone still pressed at his ear. Neither said a word, hanging up only when Gibbs was finally standing right in Tony's personal space and Tony let out a cough, making Gibbs wonder if Tony breathed at all until that moment.

Everything is still too raw, their wounds still bleeding, and having Tony almost taken away by some revengeful remnant of Tony's past is a last straw.

Gibbs puts down the bottles, comes up to Tony from behind, and gently slides one of his arm around the waist while the other follows down Tony's arm, down to the hand still clutching the bag. The body is tense and stiff, more than the woods he work with, and Gibbs merely presses closer, his fingers uncurling Tony's until the bag falls with a thud. Instead of wrapping the arm around Tony's waist, he lets the fingers interlock and presses his face against the crook of Tony's neck.

It is a simple innocent pressure and gentle breeze of Gibbs' calm, slow breathing - no kisses, no nippings. Their right hands are holding onto each other tightly while Gibbs' left hand is a still patch of warmth on Tony's hip.

Gibbs nearly falls asleep standing there with Tony in his arm before Tony finally skits his left hand across the arm around his waist, coming to rest atop his own. A minute shift has the thinnest sheet of air between them crushed and Gibbs tightens his arm and squeezes the clammy hand. Agonisingly slowly, life seeps back into Tony, and Gibbs holds him all the while, grounding Tony as much as grounding himself.

There is no big shuddering sigh or sudden slump of shoulders but Gibbs has no doubt as to when Tony is finally back, back to here, back to _him_, and he lifts his head from where it was buried. He brushes his lips across Tony's ear and whispers one word.

"Anthony."

He feels his right hand, still tangled with Tony's, getting a squeeze and the green eyes, tired but _alive_, are staring at him. He brings his forehead to meet Tony's, their hands holding, wrapped in arms, breathing each other, until they finally break apart albeit lazily. Without a word, they get on with what they need to do - Gibbs chugging the now lukewarm beer down the kitchen sink before tossing them in the trashcan while Tony picks up his bag, throws it to the corner, and shucks off his jacket. A minute later finds them in Tony's bed, arms thrown over each other, and Tony is already more than halfway to getting knocked out. Gibbs tuggs Tony who lets out a soft mewl before settling again, now well asleep, and Gibbs follows.

It is okay now. Their world will never be without cracks but the pieces are there, glued again, and they can and will move on.


End file.
